


Through Flowers

by ofstardustandbruises



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Flowers, like sandor chill get your flowers life together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofstardustandbruises/pseuds/ofstardustandbruises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing they have in common is flowers, though one happens to know a bit more about what they mean.<br/>Written in response to a very adorable tattoo parlor/florist shop AU I saw recently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through Flowers

She was covered in flowers, and not the type where she was lying down in a field of grass with wildflowers in her hair. The type where her arms were covered in ink and she looked more punk rock than the flower child she could have been. He thought he saw some semblance of bird feathers in between the meadows on her arms, but was captivated more by the color of her hair. It was fire, and he already knew the pain of fire. Best not to get too close to someone like her. Too bad she works right across the street, at the tattoo parlor where he's not quite sure she really belongs.

  
So he simply went back to tending his own flowers, except these were the living ones. Most people would start to laugh when they saw this hulking man gently tending to his flowers, but those laughs would die when they saw his face. Riddled with burn marks and a permanent scowl etched on his face, he was the person others would call a terror.

  
And he was a terror.

  
But only when people insulted his flowers. He knew how colors worked together; he studied all the secret meanings of flowers and how to arrange them to create a myriad of messages that only he understood. He knew how to tell if a flower was right at the point when the scent and colors were the sharpest, and maybe that's why people sometimes called him The Hound: because he could always sniff out the truth of a flower. Flowers didn't have to be perfect or even beautiful. Sure, he thought, most flowers have pretty petals, but it's the thorns that really count. Sometimes people wouldn't see the thorns in his arrangement, and when they'd pick out a flower to give to their sweethearts, they'd prick themselves instead. And that was life. That was his life.

  
And he wondered what kind of flower she was. Was she a perfect cultivar? Or maybe her thorns are the flowers etched in her arms, letting people know she was still beautiful. Damn it, she was the most beautiful girl Sandor had ever laid eyes on, even if she did remind him of fire.

  
No. She reminded him a bit more of Spanish Flag. She would fade from red to a ghost, but she still had a bite to her, and would attract the flightiness of birds. And that wasn't such a bad thing after all.

  
He just wished she'd bite back more. He didn't like the sounds of yelling her boss would throw at her. She just stood there and took it, like a tree. She seemed unbreakable, but he could tell she was bending fast, and he didn't think more ink would help save her.  
So it really surprised him when she came across the street later that day, and he could see a small bird on her right shoulder, and he wished that she would fly away from the tattoo parlor forever. The faint ding of the doorbell sang through the air and he was breath taken. She was truly a piece of art. A landscape—a meadow even. He wondered if she even knew what all those flowers meant.

  
"Hi," she said.

"Hello."

She fidgeted slightly, and he wondered if it was his own prairie of scars causing her discomfort or perhaps the fact that he was a man and her boss had railed on her not thirty minutes before. But she looked him straight in the face.

"I need your help with something. I need a classy flower bouquet for my parents' anniversary but I can't spend more than $50. Any suggestions...?" Her eyes roamed over his shirt and it wasn't until a few tense seconds had passed that he realized she was looking for a nametag.

"Sandor. Sandor's my name." Her smile at that was a quiet one and it looked like she was filing that back in some mind cabinet, and he couldn't help but smirk at that. He decided she was more like a touch-me-not, very shy and their only defense was to cower and be polite. And she was polite enough when she said her name was Sansa. He wondered if there was a flower named that.

When he went on to explain that she should have some sunflowers to represent longevity, orange orchids for love and beauty and many children, orange blossom for marriage, and daffodils for unequalled love, he could see her face lighting up like a tiny sparkler, and he just had to ask:

"Do you know the meaning of those flowers? On your arms I mean."

"No. But maybe you could tell me."

And so he did. She told him about the meaning of the bird on her shoulder. A sparrow, to remind her that the smallest things weren't the weakest, and they didn't have to be the loudest to be heard. She was a Japanese cherry blossom, he decided. Her cheeks were the same color anyways.

It wasn't long before he got a red camellia with his name on it outside of the shop. His grin almost split his face.

He wasn't very good with words, but he could flirt through flowers.

**Author's Note:**

> Camellia, Red: You're a flame in my heart.  
> I just had to go there.
> 
> So while this is my first oneshot, I am in the process of editing the first chapter of a multi-chapter fanfic! I'm hoping it comes out soon, though my teachers decided that two papers and a lab about plants all due on the same day was the greatest idea ever.


End file.
